by Lulu Taylor
‘Oh?’ The old lady’s eyes turned flinty though her expression didn’t change.
‘Yes. I’m sure you’re wishing that David and I would let you retire and get some well-earned rest after the years of service you’ve put in here. But the bad news is that we’re not going to do that. I’m afraid we’re going to ask you to stay on just as long as you can possibly manage. I hope you’re not too angry with us.’
Freda’s eyebrows went up as she absorbed this, and the next moment a big smile spread across her face. ‘I think I can manage that, m’lady!’ she announced. ‘As long as you or Mr Mac need me, I’ll be here. Don’t you worry. Now, let me open this bottle and get a spray of it on. I do love this one.’
After that, Freda was Allegra’s biggest fan, and Allegra dropped in almost every evening to spend half an hour gossiping in the ladies. Despite the fact that Freda seemed to spend all her time shut away in the cloakroom, she knew absolutely everything that was going on and was an invaluable source of information about the state of the kitchens, any squabbles or rivalries, and even what was going on in the private lives of the members.
‘That cabinet minister was in again last night,’ she’d say. ‘He’s having an affair with that blonde thing he brings. Scandalous. Still, this is the only place in London he could get away with it.’
Allegra knew that Freda never breathed a word outside the club and that the secrets of Colette’s stayed safe inside its subterranean walls.
She could never have guessed how much time she would spend managing her staff, but then, she hadn’t realised the half of all the work that had to go on behind the scenes in the club. That first night in Colette’s she’d dimly perceived it as a sort of grand restaurant, and of course she knew nothing about the restaurant trade. Now she knew that it was indeed the finest restaurant, turning out exquisite food that reflected David’s individual taste and perpetual quest for perfection. Some dishes had been on the menu almost since opening night, such as the luxurious baked potato – golden, buttery mashed insides smothered in sour cream and a huge dollop of caviar – that was David’s favourite comfort food. But he was fond of the best of everything: foie gras, lobster, caviar (Beluga or Oscietra), fillet steak, Pyrenean lamb, cream, truffles … all featured on the menu in one form or another.
Allegra didn’t have to learn to cook, but she had to learn how a kitchen functioned and what she could request of it, how to oversee the orders and the purchasing, the delivery times and the planning of the menus. She considered Adrian, their head chef, a priceless treasure and a great talent. David had sent him not just all over London but all over the world to sample and learn dishes worth adding to their menu. If David found the perfect lobster bisque in Rome, Adrian would be on a plane within the day to taste and learn, and he never minded expanding his impressive repertoire. He had a wonderful team who could turn out an astonishing amount of excellent food from a tiny kitchen, and he knew how to handle David who had previously been prone to firing the entire cooking brigade if something displeased him or he considered the kitchen to be underperforming. Adrian could usually mollify him or else knew when to offer up a lesser member of the team as a sacrifice to his rage, while protecting the talented chefs he needed to keep.
But Colette’s was more than simply a restaurant, of course. It was a place where people drank and danced and celebrated. It was a place some considered their second home and loved as passionately, or even more passionately, than their own house. They noted every little change: whether a painting was moved or replaced; if a new cocktail was added to the bar menu. And they expected that on any given night Colette’s would always be perfect: the tables laid in precisely the same manner with the flower-patterned Limoges dinner service, starched linen napkins, Venetian glasses and small silver-and-glass dishes filled with crisp flakes of sea salt, the tiny silver spoon set at exactly two o’clock; everything must be clean and spotless, gleaming with love and care, the silver burnished, the brass polished, the picture frames free from dust and the glass shining.
All this took a lot of work, considering the battering the club took from the sheer volume of people who used it. It was a huge task to keep the whole place looking as comfortable and inviting as it did. Once a year they closed down for a thorough overhaul, with every socket and wire inspected, every carpet and rug cleaned, everything dismantled, checked, repaired, cleaned and reassembled, from the upholstery on the chairs to the silver and glass chandeliers in the private dining room. It was a mammoth task and it cost a fortune. Allegra likened it to renovating a National Trust property annually.
The crazy thing is how much I love this job! she thought as she strolled towards her flat. It’s like being part of a family, a really special little family, as well as an extended one that includes all the members and their families. It ought to be dull and repetitive but it’s not. It’s always changing and always challenging.
But something was making her uneasy. David had hired her to refresh Colette’s and bring in new blood, while covertly resisting any change she suggested every step of the way. She had won the battle over the mews house, but there were other, more important battles that he would not allow her to win. Her attempts to make the place more appealing to younger people had been knocked back, even though she had managed to increase membership.
One of her first successes had been to persuade her cousin Jemima Calthorpe to hold her birthday party in Colette’s. Jemima, a hugely well connected and beautiful young viscountess, had brought a sparkling social mix into the club, and Allegra had put on a fantastic party for them. The guests had drunk champagne, feasted on lobster and then danced till dawn, before spilling out into the square to continue the party. It had made quite a splash and been written up in all the papers. Afterwards there had been lots of enquiries about membership from Jemima’s sparkly young friends. A triumph, Allegra had assumed. A travesty, as far as David was concerned. To him, Colette’s was about discreet style and privacy, not newspapers and celebs and drunken cavorting off the premises.
Allegra had now given up trying to alter the club in any radical way. She realised she’d have to think of an entirely new approach if she was ever to spread her wings.
She reached her mansion block and unlocked the front door. Stepping into the hallway, she was startled by a man who had been sitting at the foot of the stairs but now leapt to his feet.
‘Oh my God! Xander! You startled me,’ she laughed, panting a little in the aftermath of the surprise.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. ‘Hello, darling. One of your neighbours let me in.’
‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’ They walked together up the broad staircase until they reached the third floor and Allegra’s front door.
‘I thought I’d surprise you.’
‘You didn’t know I’d be coming back. I might have been staying on at Colette’s.’
‘If you hadn’t turned up, I’d have moseyed on down to see if you were there.’
Allegra looked at his jeans and open-necked shirt. ‘I don’t think Harry would have let you down the stairs in that get-up. Jacket and tie only.’
‘Surely they’d make an exception for me …’
Allegra shook her head. ‘No exceptions, Xander. Princes and pop stars have been turned away for not having a tie. But the manager has one you can borrow.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
Allegra unlocked her front door and they went inside. Her flat was fresh and modern, the walls painted in soothing tones of mink and cappuccino, with bursts of light and colour in the fabrics and furniture, an eclectic mix of old and new, from the green clear plastic dining chairs to the antique ottoman and kilim rug.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Allegra asked, going through to her small kitchen. ‘I’m drowning in champagne. A supplier has sent lots of bottles for me to taste – trying to convince me to change the producer of our house fizz, I think. Shall we open some?’
‘Yes,
please.’ Xander came and leant against the door frame, watching her as she got glasses and a chilled bottle out of the fridge.
‘So – to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’ she asked as they went back through to the sitting room with the champagne.
‘Just thought I’d come by and say hello,’ he said casually. ‘Do I need a reason to see my little sis?’
‘No … but it’s been a while, that’s all. What have you been up to? Open this, will you?’ She sat down on the sofa and gestured to the bottle.
‘I’ve been staying with James in his place in the hills above Marbella. It’s incredibly beautiful there, looking down off the mountains to the sea.’
‘I thought you were browner than usual,’ Allegra remarked. She watched as her brother picked up the bottle, tore the foil from the cork and began to unscrew the gold wire frame around it. Although Xander had a healthy brown glow, she noticed that he was looking thin. In fact, he’d lost a lot of weight; his cheeks had hollows below the bone and she could see that his arms were far more slender than they used to be. The rest of him was hidden by his clothes. Xander tried to manoeuvre the cork out of the bottle but gave up after a few minutes. ‘Fuck it. This thing’s impossible. You try.’
He handed it to Allegra, who pulled out the cork without much effort. She frowned as she poured the fizzing liquid into the glasses. ‘Are you all right?’
Her brother leant back on the sofa. ‘’Course I am. I’m fine.’
‘You seem a bit … I don’t know … a bit under par.’
Xander shrugged. ‘I have a fucking awful cold.’ He gave a sniff as if to demonstrate it. ‘Just can’t seem to shake it off.’
Allegra noticed that his eyes had a yellowish, dull quality and that, beneath his tan, his skin looked lifeless. ‘You don’t look well. You’re far too skinny.’
Xander laughed. ‘You know me, weight falls off if I don’t eat. It was so hot in Spain, I just didn’t feel like it. I’m getting better now.’
Allegra picked up her glass of champagne and tasted it. She couldn’t help evaluating it as she did so: Not quite dry enough … the bubbles aren’t crisp enough either … I can imagine what the members would say if I put this on the wine list … Then she pulled herself back to the present and looked over at her brother. When she spoke it was slowly and carefully. ‘I heard a rumour you were considering going into rehab.’
Xander shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the azure-and-purple striped cushions on the yellow sofa. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t need that.’
‘Really?’ She glanced anxiously at his thin wrists.
Xander looked up, his blue eyes flashing. ‘Really! I’m not a junkie, you know. I’m not an addict. I’m a recreational user, like all my friends are. We dabble, we have fun …’
‘It’s hardly dabbling,’ said Allegra, then she sighed. ‘Listen, I’m not out to get you. I’m no hypocrite, I still use myself occasionally’ – she mentally crossed her fingers – ‘a bit of charlie, some E. But if it’s a problem for you, then you need help.’
‘It’s not,’ Xander insisted. ‘Anyway, I rehabbed in Marbella. We lived very simply, ate well, and just chilled in the sunshine. It was really peaceful. I feel like a new man.’
She put down her glass and leant towards him, her eyes anxious. ‘You would tell me, Xander, wouldn’t you? If you were ever in trouble? If you ever needed help?’
She watched as her brother stood up and began to pace about the sitting room, examining pictures and photographs. ‘Yes,’ he said, almost carelessly. ‘Of course I would. But I’m fine, I’m in control. It’s all fine.’ He paused before an antique print of Foughton Castle and stared at it for a while. Then he turned to face her. ‘Hey, whatever happened to that friend of yours … Imogen?’
Allegra looked over at him, surprised. ‘Midge?’ She wondered what had made him think of her. The castle? He certainly hadn’t seen her for years. ‘She’s fine. She’s started at her law firm and is quite the party girl these days. They work her hard so she likes to let her hair down at the end of the week. She comes to Colette’s sometimes.’
‘But she’s happy?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ Allegra glanced at him quizzically, trying to work out why he was interested.
‘Good,’ Xander said, as if satisfied. ‘I’m glad she’s on the right path.’
Allegra stood up and went to join him in front of the picture of their childhood home. ‘And what about you?’ she asked quietly. ‘Are you on the right path?’ She took his hand in hers and squeezed it.
He smiled one of his wistful, little boy smiles. ‘My life is fine. I like hanging out with James. I’m actually very fond of him, and I suppose his family billions do help things flow with a certain ease. I like this life. I belong in it. It’s just a hassle that I can’t afford it on my own account. Which brings me to a certain little matter I’d like to discuss …’
Allegra stared at him, her heart sinking. So now we get to the point. I know what this is going to be.
‘The thing is, I’m a bit low on cash. I’ve spent all the old allowance for this month and the next. I wondered if you might have a bit you could lend me.’
‘What do you need money for?’ Allegra said, feeling depressed though she tried not to show it. She’d learnt that he didn’t take kindly to people feeling sorry for him or trying to hector him into changing. But it looked liked Xander had only come here to ask for one of his never-to-be-repaid loans.
He shrugged. ‘This and that,’ he relied vaguely. ‘My rent.’
‘I thought you were staying in Onslow Square.’
‘Oh, yeah – but I owe some back rent from my last place.’
‘How much do you need?’ She could never say no to him, even though she dreaded to think what he was spending the money on.
Xander sensed her weakening and said cheerfully, ‘Not much. Say … five hundred?’
Allegra reached for her bag. ‘OK. I’ll write you a cheque.’
‘Don’t suppose it could be in cash, could it?’ he said with a sheepish smile. ‘Only I kind of need it right away.’
There was a pause and then she replied, ‘All right. When we’ve had our drink, we can take a stroll to the cash point.’
‘Thanks, sweetie,’ he said with obvious relief. ‘I owe you. Big time.’
I’m not going to get it back, she thought. But I don’t care about that. My real worry is what he needs that money for.
Chapter 40
IMOGEN HAD BEEN given membership of Colette’s as a present by Allegra, though they’d kept it a secret from David, who never gave out free memberships.
Lucky, really, as I’d never have been able to afford it otherwise, she thought as she dressed up for a Friday evening visiting Allegra. Even now I’m on a good salary, it’s hard to justify spending a whole thousand pounds of it on joining a nightclub.
Her flatmate poked her head round the door. ‘You’re back then. Thought they were working you hard tonight on the Fielding case?’
Imogen turned round to face Fi as she poked a dangly chandelier earring through a lobe. ‘The client’s called a halt to it. I’m home free for the entire weekend.’
‘Lucky you,’ Fi said enviously. ‘I’m in tomorrow at the crack of dawn. A Saturday. That sucks, doesn’t it? So I’m off for a run.’
‘Have a good time,’ Imogen said with a smile. She turned back to her reflection and continued getting ready.
‘It’s so wonderful you’re here,’ Allegra said, kissing Imogen on the cheek and giving her a big smile. ‘I could do with a nice gossip. Sinbad, two of your best Cosmopolitans, please.’
‘Of course, Lady Allegra.’ The barman instantly began work, handling the tools of his trade with practised ease as he mixed their drinks.
The girls were in the bar. It was still early for Colette’s, and there was plenty of room to sit down. ‘Let’s go over here,’ Allegra said, leading the way across the comfortable seating area and going over to one of the
velvet banquettes. She looked elegant in an understated way in her black Burberry shift, nipped in at the waist with a big silver leather belt, and effortlessly graceful on towering Rupert Sanderson heels. She was perfectly made up, her hair long and supermodel glossy, and looked slender and toned.
I’m never going to look like that in a million years, Imogen thought a little wistfully. Her own outfit – a Top Shop green and grey sequined cocktail dress which she’d teamed with high gladiator sandals that criss-crossed up her legs – had looked delightful and a little mermaidish in her bedroom, but somehow didn’t match up to the expensive simplicity of Allegra’s outfit. But she didn’t have that kind of money – not yet, at least. Give me time. Ten years and I’ll be a partner and earning hundreds of thousands. Before bonuses. ‘You look great,’ she said sincerely. ‘I love that dress.’
‘Thanks.’ Allegra smiled. ‘It’s part of the job, really. I have to project the Colette’s style all the time. It is expensive but David gives me a dress and grooming allowance to make sure I’m always perfectly turned out – it’s the kind of thing that matters to him.’
‘Do you mind spending your free time here as well?’ Imogen looked about her at the alcove they were sitting in. A vase of white peonies stood next to a brass lamp with a scarlet shade. Its soft golden light illuminated pictures hung frame to frame – portraits of dogs in this particular alcove. She took a sip of her drink, enjoying the tart taste of cranberry and lime with the slight burn of vodka underneath.
‘Not really,’ replied Allegra. ‘I spend most of my time in the office rather than the club, and anyway, if I didn’t want to spend my evenings here, I could hardly expect the members to.’
‘It’s so gloriously glamorous,’ Imogen sighed. ‘Why on earth does it feel so special?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to discover,’ Allegra said, sipping her drink. ‘I’m working out just what the secret is.’